


a kind of blind love

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: the mirrorverse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e19 I Only Have Eyes For You, F/M, except this time jenny's alive!, pain with a side of pain, so like SHE gets to be miserable too!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: With a muffled sob, Jenny buried her face in her hands. “This is so goddamnhumiliating!”she burst out. “Ineverwanted to be this person! I started dating you because I thought we were eventually going to fall apart, and then wedid,but I didn’t – I didn’t stopcaring,Ican’tstop caring about you!Whycan’t I just cut my damn losses and giveupon this horrible train wreck of a relationship instead of—instead of—”Giles opened the passenger-side door, leaning down to gently tug her hands away from her face. Softly, he said, “Instead of falling in love with me?”
Relationships: Jenny Calendar/Rupert Giles
Series: the mirrorverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200062
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	a kind of blind love

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in the works for a WHILE. i can't promise a new installment any time soon, but please know that i have big plans for this 'verse. 
> 
> i decided to make this thing a oneshot because i felt like it might flow a little better? initially i was tossing around the idea of making this the first chapter of a bigger installment, but i think it works best on its own.

Jenny was deathly silent. Willow and Xander seemed to know better than to ask what exactly had happened, though it was clear the plan had gone _drastically_ off the rails: even if Jenny’s blank, cold expression and teary eyes hadn’t given it away, the single indentation in Giles’s bulletproof vest made it very clear. Buffy, however, appeared to be soldiering on in her attempts to make conversation—another way to try and awkwardly bridge the gap between herself and Jenny without admitting that that was her intention, Giles supposed. Were he not so shaken himself, he’d probably have been able to find it in himself to tell her to stop.

“So, you guys got the ghost?” Buffy’s voice was light and somewhat wobbly. “Probably you did, ‘cause it doesn’t look like there are snakes or locker monsters or anything like that. How are—I mean, are you doing okay? Giles shoot you?”

“Rupert,” said Jenny, in a clear, calm voice that didn’t at all match the tears beginning to spill down her cheeks, “I think I’d like you to take me home.”

“I—yes, yes, of course,” said Giles, uncomfortably aware that he would have to be the levelheaded one about this entire situation. “I’d be happy to. I _am_ sorry,” he added to the children, “to leave all of you without a proper explanation, but Jenny and I have had an extremely stressful night. This situation took an unexpected toll on both of us.”

“I _said_ it was a dumb idea to go in and get yourselves possessed by some creepy murder-y ghosts,” Cordelia observed shortly. Her hand was gripping Xander’s tightly enough that her knuckles had gone white. “I _said_ that, and did either of you listen?”

 _“Cordelia,”_ said Buffy sharply.

Jenny laughed. It was a sharp, eerie noise that didn’t sound much like Jenny at all. “She has a point!” she said. “Rupert, _home,_ please.”

It was then that Giles noticed how heavily Jenny was leaning on the counter, and how, though she was doing her best to stand stiff and straight, she was shaking in a strange, restrained way that suggested an impending collapse. He moved towards her quickly, enfolding her in his arms, and she clung to him with a terrified ferocity that he’d never experienced from her before. Overwhelmed, he pulled her closer.

“Is Ms. Calendar okay?” Willow burst out, her self-control clearly reaching its limit.

Giles didn’t know exactly how to answer that. Thankfully, Buffy said, “Will, I, uh, I think we should all probably head home too.”

“But—”

“Yeah, let’s get going,” Xander agreed, tugging Cordelia to her feet and following Buffy out of the library. Willow lingered, but when it became clear that neither Giles nor Jenny was going to explain anything about what had happened with James Stanley, she reluctantly left as well.

As soon as they were gone, Giles said, tentatively, “Jenny—”

“I _don’t_ want to talk about it,” said Jenny.

“No, we don’t have to, I just—”

“Shut up,” said Jenny. She hadn’t moved from his arms. “Just—I am going to lose my goddamn mind if I hear you say one more word, Rupert, I _can’t.”_ The last word broke in the middle; she sobbed, once, and her hands clutched at his jacket.

Giles swallowed, then nodded. He tried to step back, attempting to move towards the door, but her grip on his jacket tightened, so he began to awkwardly edge them both out of the library instead. Halfway through this attempt, Jenny seemed to realize what he was doing, and stepped back to allow him a greater range of mobility. One of her hands took his and didn’t let go.

He snuck a look at her as they were walking out of the library. Even after the mess a few weeks ago with Buffy and Angelus, Jenny hadn’t looked this undone. She didn’t seem entirely aware of where she was, and followed Giles with a kind of exhausted complacency that terrified him. “Complacent” was not a word he would ever have used to describe Jenny. He took a breath, remembered that she didn’t actually want him to say anything—

“No, you can—you can talk now,” said Jenny distantly. “If you want.”

“What do _you_ want?” said Giles immediately. “How can I—”

Jenny stopped walking, tugging Giles to a stop as well, and stepped in front of him until they were toe-to-toe. “What I want,” she said, “is for you to take me home and do _whatever_ you want with me.” The last time Jenny had said something like that, she’d been under the influence of an extremely powerful demon. Giles was opening his mouth to say this when she said very flatly, “This isn’t under the influence of _anything,_ Rupert. I know what _whatever you want_ really looks like. I’m asking for—” Her mouth trembled. “I know what I’m asking for.”

“Well, _I_ don’t,” said Giles, anxiety sharpening his words more than he’d intended. “I don’t know _what_ kind of a man you think I am, Jenny, but we’ve both been through an extremely traumatic experience tonight and I can’t quite find myself interested in going to bed with you at this juncture! Regardless of influences or a lack thereof—” Jenny’s face had crumpled. _“Jenny,”_ he said, a mixture of exasperated and terrified. “What on _earth—”_

Tears were streaming down Jenny’s face again. “I don’t know how to ask you for this,” she whispered. “I’ve never asked f-for something like this before, I—”

“You’ve never—” Abruptly, Giles understood, and his breath caught in his throat.

* * *

They’d thought that James Stanley would choose Giles. He’d only picked men to inhabit, after all. It was only at Jenny’s insistence that Giles donned the bulletproof vest himself, though she hadn’t explained in much detail why she’d been so _very_ insistent about it. “It’s just good _sense,”_ she’d said firmly. “If there are guns around—”

“Guns,” Giles had said, “that I will very likely be wielding.”

“Rupert, just do this for me,” Jenny had said, her voice strange and stiff. “I don’t—want you getting hurt.” And then Giles had remembered, with a small and terrifying jolt, that Jenny was in love with him and had _said_ as much only a week or two ago—that Jenny had never been in love before and very clearly didn’t enjoy it all that much. Looking at her, her jaw tense and her eyes narrowed, Giles only saw how small and vulnerable she was. How many times she had collapsed into his arms in the last year alone, pale cheek against his shoulder, impossibly fragile in the face of trauma and tragedy and yet impossibly resilient enough to survive.

No one else saw Jenny like he did. He knew that. Jenny cultivated a very specific image, emphasized her strength and her unshakable confidence in a way that made quite a few people miss her strange and carefully guarded heart. Giles had seen through Jenny’s façade, and she through his, because neither of them were entirely built for the lives they’d been forced into, and both of them had had to learn how to pretend that they believed in what they did.

Giles had thought it obvious that James Stanley would choose him. Jenny, however, had looked a bit more closely at the situation. She had a knack for that.

* * *

_“I just want you to be able to have some kind of normal life,”_ Giles had said in the hallway, the words his own, the words not quite his own. _“We can never have that, don't you see?”_

 _“I don't give a_ damn _about a normal life!”_ Jenny had retorted, tears spilling down her cheeks. _“I'm going crazy not seeing you. I think about you every minute.”_ Her hand had moved to his cheek, and the part of Giles’s mind that was still his own had realized exactly where he had made his mistake.

 _“I know,”_ he said. _“But it's over. It has to be.”_ He’d turned to leave, just as he’d done three weeks ago, when Jenny had tried her hardest to talk to him and he’d tried his best to remind himself that the woman he’d fallen in love with was a carefully constructed lie. The truth of the matter was unthinkable. Even now, neither of them had addressed what he’d done.

 _“Come back here! We're not finished!_ ” Jenny’s grip on his arm was cold, stronger than it normally was. An unexpected side effect of the possession, Giles supposed. _“You don't care anymore, is that it?”_

Tears were streaming down Giles’s face. _“It doesn’t matter,”_ he sobbed. _“It doesn’t matter what I feel.”_

 _“Then tell me you don’t love me!”_ He could see the horror in Jenny’s eyes, and realized with a similar jolt that not once had he told Jenny he loved her. If their plan went wrong, if he died, if _she_ died— _“Say it!”_

Somehow, Giles knew exactly what Grace Newman had said. _“I don’t,”_ he said. _“Is that what you need to hear? Will that help? I don’t. I don’t. Now let me go.”_

* * *

Exactly one hour and twelve minutes after Grace Newman and James Stanley had reenacted their last macabre tableau, Rupert Giles drew Jenny Calendar into a careful, quiet hug in the very same hallway. She was shaking, so he slid an arm around her waist to steady her, feeling a rush of protective warmth at her relieved little sigh. He pulled back, bumping his forehead against hers, and said, “We can’t stay here, I’m sure Angelus and the rest won’t hesitate to attack.”

“That asshole still has a broken leg.” Jenny sniffled. “We can outrun him.”

Giles laughed, weak and relieved. “I’m sure we can,” he said, “but for now, do you think you’d mind if we head back to my house rather than yours? It’s a bit closer.”

“Mm.” Jenny’s eyes were liquid and longing, entirely unguarded.

Giles felt suddenly and acutely aware of exactly what it meant to have this much of Jenny Calendar’s trust. This was not something she gave away freely, and quite honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what he had done to earn _any_ of it. He’d spent the last month willfully ignoring her, coldly insinuating that everything about their relationship had been a lie, and using Buffy as a shield to justify treating Jenny poorly. It _hadn’t_ been Buffy alone that had inspired Giles to cut ties with Jenny. He had been so furious, seeing the worst of himself in her. The filial piety, the blind loyalty…he’d thought her free from that.

What had he done to warrant her looking up at him like that? He could ask anything from her in this moment and she would eagerly give it. It terrified him—and yet he found himself unable to look away. “My place, then,” he said, and carefully stepped back, lacing his fingers with hers to gently tug her along.

* * *

Jenny was quiet in the car – that same strained, tense silence that had characterized the moments after the ghost – but her hand tightly gripped Giles’s, and when he gently stroked her fingers with his thumb, her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. His chest _ached_ whenever he looked directly at her, so he kept his eyes trained carefully and responsibly on the road, focusing on the simple route he’d followed a thousand times. Right turn, right turn, left turn—

“I’m sorry,” said Jenny shakily.

Giles did take his eyes off the road, then. “For what?”

Jenny didn’t answer. Quietly, she tugged her hand free of his, pressing her cheek against the window and staring out towards the nearby cemetery with unfocused eyes.

Months and months of deception hung between them, and the acrid remains of distrust still lingered in Giles’s heart. It was hard _not_ to look at Jenny, so wounded and vulnerable, and think – or perhaps hope – that her vulnerability was another carefully crafted lie. How could such an impossibly wonderful woman place her heart in the hands of someone like Giles? A Watcher – a man whose life was not even his own. She would never come first in his life. No self-respecting person could possibly choose _that_ without hesitation.

“I’m sorry too,” he said quietly. “If that helps.”

Acidly, Jenny said, “It doesn’t.”

Giles swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “Well.”

Though she didn’t turn away from the window, Jenny reached out her hand, palm-up. Giles took it.

It took another five minutes to finally reach Giles’s apartment, at which point he carefully let go of her hand – or tried to. Jenny held tighter, looking at him as though she thought he might disappear if he let go. “Oh, my very heart,” he said, feeling as though _he_ might cry, and leaned in to rest his forehead quietly against hers. “It’s all right. I’m here. I promise.”

“You make a lot of promises when I’m all messed up,” said Jenny shakily. “What happens if you stop keeping them?”

Giles didn’t know how to honestly answer that question, but the pointed, knowing look that Jenny gave him in response to his silence spurred him into saying, somewhat indignantly, “Do I _look_ like the sort of person who goes back on my promises?”

Jenny sniffled, glaring at him. “You said it would be all right,” she said. “It wasn’t.”

“You are _not_ holding me to a promise made when _you_ were—Jenny, let’s have this conversation inside,” said Giles. “You’re clearly upset—”

“Don’t trivialize what I’m saying just because I’m _upset,”_ snapped Jenny. “How do I know you’re not going to leave me again?”

The question startled both of them. Giles _felt_ it, as profoundly and painfully as though she’d shot him with _another_ crossbow bolt, and Jenny’s eyes widened as though she too had been somehow hurt by the words on their way out of her mouth. “Let’s get out of the car,” said Giles, his voice clipped and short, and dropped Jenny’s hand to open the driver’s-side door. “I’ll make you some tea.”

Jenny didn’t move. She still hadn’t moved when he’d crossed to the other side of the car.

“Jenny—”

With a muffled sob, Jenny buried her face in her hands. “This is so goddamn _humiliating!”_ she burst out. “I _never_ wanted to be this person! I started dating you because I thought we were eventually going to fall apart, and then we _did,_ but I didn’t – I didn’t stop _caring,_ I _can’t_ stop caring about you! _Why_ can’t I just cut my damn losses and give _up_ on this horrible train wreck of a relationship instead of—instead of—”

Giles opened the passenger-side door, leaning down to gently tug her hands away from her face. Softly, he said, “Instead of falling in love with me?”

“Don’t say it like it’s a _good thing!”_ said Jenny. “It’s the worst thing that has happened to me in my _life!”_

“Well, I’ll try not to be _too_ offended by that—”

“Stop _looking_ at me like that!”

“Like what?” Giles’s hand moved to cup Jenny’s face.

“Like—l-like—” Shaking with a kind of terrified fury, Jenny surged forward, pulling Giles into a fierce and heated kiss.

Giles was ashamed to admit that he lost sight of his ultimate goal. Though Buffy had given them the explicit go-ahead to mend fences, Giles had been too horrified by what he had done to someone who had loved him to make any explicit romantic overtures towards Jenny, and Jenny, of course, had responded to this by treating him as one would treat an intimate and respected friend. They hadn’t kissed like this in _months,_ maybe longer, and having her in his arms had always felt like he was finally, _finally_ home, and she was clinging to him as though the world was ending and he had missed her, he’d _missed_ her, like an ache, like a piece of him that he hadn’t _known_ was missing until she _left—_

“Never leave me,” he whispered against her mouth. “Never, never leave me, Jenny.”

Jenny broke the kiss, her forehead falling to rest on his shoulder. “I love you,” she whispered, barely audible.

Never had Giles imagined that he would hear Jenny Calendar say those words to him – or that _anyone_ would, and he would _believe_ them. Too overcome to respond in kind, he managed, weakly, “Let’s—inside,” and maneuvered them awkwardly towards his apartment.

* * *

Giles made tea. Jenny had gone up to his bedroom, and he could hear the sounds of her moving around upstairs – the rustle of clothing, the give of the mattress. He was half-expecting her to have stripped down to her underthings by the time the tea was ready; she’d done it before, after all. He was certain he would have enough presence of mind to turn her down: kissing was one thing, but anything beyond that was best left till morning. Jenny needed rest and care more than she needed anything else.

_Take me home and do whatever you want with me._

Poorly phrased as Jenny’s statement had been, Giles had managed to decipher it well enough to know what she’d _truly_ been asking for. Jenny, more than anyone else, knew how badly he wanted to care for those he cared about. He wasn’t, however, entirely sure that she would be able to hold herself to what she’d requested. Allowing herself to be taken care of was vulnerable in a way that Jenny had always shied away from.

_Things have changed, though._

The timer went off. Carefully, Giles poured the tea into Jenny’s mug, then poured a mug of his own, placing both on the tea tray before exiting the kitchen. “I’m coming up,” he called. “Do you still want tea?”

Jenny didn’t answer.

“Jenny?” Giles kept his steps light and even, but couldn’t help the exasperated worry. If he _did_ end up having to talk her down from some new brand of idiocy—

Jenny was lying on the bed, sprawled against the pillows, her eyes half-shut and her breath evening out. As Giles let out a relieved sigh, she stirred, propping herself up on her elbows to blink sleepily up at him. “Hi baby,” she murmured. “C’mere?”

Setting down the tea tray on the bedside table, Giles sat carefully down on the bed, quietly tracing her cheek with a fingertip. She smiled softly at his touch. “Tea?”

“Sure.” Jenny sat up, taking the offered mug, and took a long sip, closing her eyes.

Giles hesitated, then said, “Jenny, a-about—”

Opening her eyes, Jenny gave him a wry, dry expression that looked much more familiar. “Are we _really_ going to have this conversation?” she said. _“Now?”_

Given that it was early in the morning and they’d both been through yet another traumatic demonic possession, it was somewhat hard to tell whether Jenny was deflecting the issue or making a surprisingly good point. “Um,” said Giles, who was beginning to find himself too tired to argue. “Well—perhaps, then, I should—”

“We’ll talk about it later,” said Jenny softly, and tugged him down into her arms.

He didn’t entirely mean to kiss her then. It was entirely possible that it was _her_ who kissed _him._ Giles was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and the smaller details were eluding him; what lingered was the physicality of Jenny’s arms around his neck, the soft familiarity of her smile against his mouth. For the first time in months, he felt like things were finally all right again, like they were the way they were supposed to be.

 _God,_ he was tired. Giles’s mouth landed a bit off-center, brushing Jenny’s cheek, and he tucked his head into her shoulder with a soft exhalation. “I’ve _missed_ you,” he whispered. “Perpetually. I don’t know if you can possibly imagine how hard it was for me to stay away.”

Jenny let out a quiet, rigid laugh. “You didn’t make it look all that hard.”

Giles draped an arm over her stomach. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said quietly.

“No, you…” He felt one of Jenny’s hands rest atop his head. “You don’t,” she said. “I’m just…adjusting. I wasn’t really expecting you to ever forgive me for this one.”

“How could I _not?”_

Momentarily, Jenny’s fingers tightened in his hair. It didn’t seem like a conscious motion. “I got all up on my moral high horse about the parts of your past I didn’t like,” she said, “and then you find out that I’ve got family ties of my own? That’s the kind of thing that should end a relationship for good.”

Giles considered this. Then, very carefully, he said, _“I_ raised a demon in my twenties, didn’t tell you or _anyone_ about it when that demon came back to town, and proceeded to be entirely responsible for placing you in the direct line of fire to be possessed by that demon in an attempt to hurt me? _That’s_ the kind of thing that should end a relationship for good.”

He felt her laugh again. She sounded just as exhausted as him. “Point taken.”

“I…don’t really think I’m suited for this sort of thing, Jenny,” said Giles softly. “But I…”

Jenny drew in a shaking, tired breath and gathered him closer, rubbing quiet circles on his back. “Not _now,_ Rupert,” she said, “just go to sleep,” and it was blissfully easy to do so once she’d given him permission.

* * *

Giles woke up first, with a kind of peaceful contentment settled solidly under his chin. The peaceful contentment, he slowly realized, seemed to be emanating directly from Jenny, who had wound herself quite thoroughly around him in a way uncharacteristic of a usually not-at-all-cuddly sleeper. He then noticed that her eyes were open, and laughed.

This startled Jenny, who glared up at him and removed herself very fast. “You’re like a _cat,”_ said Giles, and tugged at her hand until her sullen expression dissolved and she was biting back a smile. “I don’t _mind_ a bit of cuddling, Jenny, _really—”_

“What do I have to do to get you to shut up,” said Jenny. It wasn’t a question.

Though the way Giles propped himself up on his elbows and smiled at Jenny was positively languid, his heart was pounding when she moved to straddle his lap. He wanted to say something clever—he’d been managing it quite well before their most recent breakup—but this was the woman he loved, in love with _him,_ looking down at him and smiling with every intention of staying. Quite frankly, Giles wasn’t even positive if it was remotely possible for him to remember the English alphabet, let alone form any semblance of coherent thought.

“Oh, it’s been a _while_ since I’ve seen _that_ look,” said Jenny, giving him a sharp, biting grin, but her hands were shaking as they moved to his face. “It’s Sunday, you know. Nowhere to be today.”

“Ghah,” said Giles, managing to string together a few phonemes.

“Me too, sweetie,” said Jenny, and kissed him.

It felt different. It _was_ different. Jenny had never been one to kiss slowly, to take her time—her kisses had always been heated and bruising, dizzyingly passionate. This felt almost as though she was _savoring_ Giles, which was an emotion he was much more accustomed to directing at her than having directed at him. Giles felt an inexplicable urge to pull away, and had only just managed to shove it down when Jenny pulled away herself.

“This okay?” she said, in a low purr of a voice that Giles really had no ability to say no to.

“I love you,” said Giles. He truly couldn’t understand why he hadn’t said it before.

Jenny smiled, soft and tremulous, and Giles realized with a small jolt that this was perhaps the very first time anyone she loved had said those words to her. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. I love you.”

“Okay,” said Jenny, looking a little overwhelmed. She made no move to kiss him again.

Something occurred to Giles. “Jenny,” he said, “did you think that I didn’t—”

A strange and terrified look flashed across Jenny’s face for only an instant—enough time for Giles to realize the horrible answer to his half-finished question. Before he could open his mouth and say—something, _anything,_ to make sure she knew for _certain_ that his feelings were deep and true—she was kissing him again, hard and biting in a way that was the same kind of deliberate diversion she’d used in the past.

* * *

_Jenny, did you think that I didn’t love you?_


End file.
